


succulent

by silentsonata



Series: nice but inaccurate oneshots [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Plants, Succulent, Valentine's Day, good omens fluff, look crowley just wants something that won't ever die okay, plastic plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-07-31 21:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20121673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentsonata/pseuds/silentsonata
Summary: In which Crowley gifts a plastic succulent to Aziraphale.





	succulent

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single demon in possession of the most luxurious, verdant, and beautiful plants in London must be in want of a _proper_ Valentine’s gift for his partner. And so, Crowley had searched far and wide, from Italy to Australia and everywhere in between. He had made a list of potential items to cross off as he rejected, but the rate at which his options were disappearing was alarming. The last five items of his list were as follows, written in Crowley’s unorthodox scrawl:

  * <strike>Novelty mug</strike>– gifted before
  * <strike>Twilight movie set</strike>– one of the villains had a weird-ass laugh
  * <strike>Great British Bake-Off Cookbook</strike>– not a bad choice, but he didn’t want Aziraphale to get any ideas about going on the show (Crowley wanted to keep the angel to himself)
  * <strike>Little hand-painted Alice in Wonderland spoons</strike>– Aziraphale wasn’t a _grandma_
  * Plant

_Plant. _That was the one word he was left with, from which he had to miraculously manifest something, something amazing enough for the angel who was the very definition of perfection. And he was stuck. Completely and frustratingly stuck. How could just one syllable give him so much difficulty? But, then again, one might as well ask how just one angel had made him so smitten. And so, Crowley turned to the experts themselves.

Crowley had never talked to his plants about something like this before. As they heard his footsteps approaching, their leaves were already rustling as if subject to the wrath of the wild west wind itself. But the shivers of fear running through their stems quickly became confused twitches as Crowley cleared his throat ceremoniously.

“You all know why I have assembled you here today,” he began, slowing scanning the plants with an intense stare. “If I don’t get this right, you’ll all be in _big trouble_.” He whipped his head around. “Oh, don’t youlook at me like that. You know _full well_ that both our heads are on the line for this.” Crowley tapped his foot impatiently. “What’s it going to be?”

He paced around the room, dangerously close to the plants. “Roses? Too cliché. Wasabi? Too hard for a beginner to grow. Pothos? Angel doesn’t have anywhere to hang it.” Crowley’s brow furrowed, and he lashed out at the Chinese Evergreen, hissing at it. “_Help me, I said_.”

The sound of leaves quaking began to fill the room once again, and the plants were reminded once again of the fear that made them the most beautiful in London.

“Oh.” Crowley stopped, bringing his hand to his face. “I’ll get a plastic one. Mini cactus, maybe. That way he won’t be able to tell.” He turned on his heel and began to leave, warning the plants one last time that he’d be back soon for an inspection. When he had left, even though all was technically at peace, the sense of foreboding lingered in the air.

The fear of Crowley, indeed.

Valentine’s Day came and went. After giving his little plastic succulent to Aziraphale, Crowley had returned home, practically bouncing off the walls. He was almost skipping around as he spritzed the plants with water, humming a song from the Velvet Underground underneath his breath. _Sunday Morning_, it was.

The plants didn’t know what to think of this change in mood. Were they to be just as jovial? Were they to quake in further fear? Were they to be motionless, static as if time had been paused, to avoid incurring his wrath? Crowley didn’t even notice that the plants were shaking less than usual, spraying water in beat with the song.

Winter went, melting away like a vanilla ice-cream in the sun to give rise to the mild sugary spring. And summer brought sticky sweetness to London, like Aziraphale’s honeyed laugh and saccharine smile as they chatted in his bookshop.

But Aziraphale wasn’t laughing now. No, far from it.

“Six months!”

“Angel, calm d-”

“Six months you stood by and watched me water a plastic plant!”

“Couldn’t _really_ deprive you of all that _happiness_, could I? You were so proud to show me it every time I walked in...” Crowley almost pouted as he tried to save himself from the onslaught of accusations.

“I don’t care!” Aziraphale stomped his foot like an impatient child. “You lied to me!”

“Didn’t technically… _lie_…”

“Withdrawing the truth is just as bad!”

“Says the one who tricked Heaven into thinking that they were immune to hellfire.”

“But,” Aziraphale withered, “but…”

Crowley leaned against a bookcase, pushing up his sunglasses. “I suppose _I_ should be the one to thank you, anyway. Didn’t think you would take to it. Makes me feel rather appreciated, not like how they used to treat me down there.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, laughing awkwardly, “You’re welcome…?”

“Think most crooked and hardened plants would straighten out under you, eh?”

Startled by the uncharacteristic and successive compliments, Aziraphale’s mind went blank. “You’re welcome!” he blurted out, “All children are welcome at the table of the Lord!”

Crowley shook his head, the ghost of a smirk on his face. “There are _so _many things wrong with that statement.” But as he looked up to tease Aziraphale, his jaw dropped. Unhinged, if you will, like a snake’s jaw.

By the open window, in an almost-godly beam of sunlight, he had seen the little succulent in its terracotta pot on the windowsill.

“Angel, dunno if it’s the power of love or whatever, but I don’t think it’s plastic anymore.”

See, a tiny orange flower had sprouted from the ‘fake’ succulent.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly guys, this would make a really good april fool's prank
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://silent--sonata.tumblr.com/)   
[Chat to me on Discord!](https://discord.gg/pTcajxx)   



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